The Caring of the Care-er
by TheMiner'sCanary
Summary: Clara takes sick days after catching an odd alien virus, and doesn't call the Doctor until it's too late...or is it? My first sickfic, enjoy :) Plus it's a bit fluffy
1. Chapter 1

I am not affiliated in any way shape or form with the creators of Doctor Who.

* * *

It all started after the Doctor and Clara had come back from the 74th annual Subterranean Octopod Winter-Sport Olympics on Zukron. It had been exceptionally chilly in the exposed seats the Doctor had procured, so she had blamed her biting headache on the exposure. It'd go away eventually, just as all ailments with lower temperatures seem to do. She needn't bother the Doctor. What would he do anyway, it's just a headache.

Now, however, she was not so confident.

Their trip to Zukon had been last Wednesday, and she'd nearly used up all her sick days for this semester feeling horrible in bed and alternating between boiling lava and Antarctica. The only reason she even knew the passage of time was her calendar, as she never seemed to remember where the time went. With Danny gone and her dad on holiday, Clara was left to be the care-ee and the care-er.

Lying on the couch beneath assorted quilts, she barely had the energy to shift her positon. Her throat began to tickle fiercely, and she coughed painfully, a racking sand-paper cough that felt like she was being shredded to bits from the inside out. Thinking longingly of a steaming mug of tea and a honeyspoon, she rolled her glazed eyes languidly to the empty cup from yesterday. Any food nauseated her, and the mere thought of it made her stomach twist in revulsion. And drink…she didn't remember when she'd last sipped a cool glass of water.

As her eyes drooped for the millionth time, a webbing pain exploded just above her eye like some sizzling hand was grabbing her scalp, searing the very bone until she couldn't tell if her eyes were closed or black from pain. Yelping, her hand flew to the spot and applied pressure. _I've never had a migraine like this before._ As the pain began to subside, she coughed the horrible grating cough thrice more and resolved on putting the kettle on. _Come on, up you get._ She sighted inwardly.

Piling the duvets onto one side of the couch, she found the room surprisingly easy to navigate. Sure, it seemed as though she were swooping to and fro and stopping abruptly instead of actually walking, but she got to where she was going easily enough. The trouble began when she picked up the kettle. The weight of the kettle as the water filled began to weigh her entire form down. _Wait, how did I get to the sink?_ Feeling in her right arm dissipated until her grip was the only thing telling her she still had an arm, a dull sensation starting again in her head. Latching on to the countertop for balance, she shuffled towards the stove without much coordination.

Her hand reached for the burner and turned it up. _When did I set down the kettle? Why can't I remember…?_ Her mind began to flash warnings, shards of alert flicking through her thoughts until she couldn't hear the hissing kettle over her frantically beating heart… _I'm scared. Somebody, please…_ As she felt the countertop rising, she saw her phone on the edge, and made a desperate grab. _Why haven't I called a doctor? I need to call a…the…_

The side of her hand scraped against the hard edge of the counter and she felt the dry, cold floor welcoming her hot, fevered skin. A relieved sigh escaped her parched lips as the world began to dull and fizzle away, her vision suddenly nonexistent.

 _vvvwworp vvwWORP VVWWWORP_

 _The Doctor steps out of the TARDIS, smiling a rare smile and offering his hand to her._

 _Reaching for it, she steps inside his wonderful blue box. The lights are dazzling, and she twirls for him in her new dress, a twirly deep burgundy with gold polka dots and a black belt, laughing and catching herself against the console. Schmaltzy music plays from an old gramophone in the distance. Another grin breaks across his face and he takes his pale hands out of his red velvet waistcoat, moving his pointer finger in a small circle so that she'll turn for him again. She does, all giggles and bright lights and bliss until her heel is caught on a grate, and she feels herself begin to fall-_

 _Only to be swooped up into a breathtakingly fluid dip by strong arms, their faces just inches apart. He smells of pine needles and cinnamon, his serious but kind face edging towards her own…his sexy beak-like nose edging towards her own…_

 _Her eyes stray upward from his thin lips to that nose, meeting his eyes._

 _Her breathing cuts as she loses herself in the frozen sea, the infinite chasms of quarts and crystalline fractals radiating ice. She feels her body grow cold under his oddly warm, intent gaze, a grim stare replacing the love she had been enveloped in…and he lets her fall._

 _She tries to jerk herself upward, her hands grasping at his arms but she's too far away—_

 _—A blinding flashback to the Doctor's cloud as she reaches up to him, clawing at the airborne snowflakes above_

 _She's falling backwards, she can't see, doesn't want to see—_

 _A hard thwack to the back of her skull informs her that she's out, she's done, no more. No more._


	2. Chapter 2

vvvwworp vvwWORP VVWWWORP

Silence.

The Doctor, in his black jumper and navy plaid pajama bottoms, leans against the frame of his TARDIS.

"Clara? Fancy a stroll in the finest garden on the barren planet of Apollieus? A planet so close to the sun that the flora and fauna…" his voice died away. Something was not right. There was a horrible ringing coming from the kitchen, an excessive bundle of blankets splayed over the couch, and used saucers and mugs littering the perimeter of any object of furniture meant to be sat on. "Clara?" he called, sticking his head around the corner to her bedroom. "Clara? I believe you've left the kettle on!" he called desperately over the din. Something was definitely, very off.

As he approached the kitchen, his insides froze. A small human hand lay curled upwards on the tile of the kitchen, and further observation informed him that the whole human was attached. "CLARA?!" he shouted warningly, rushing forward in a low crouch. She looked like a forgotten marionette, splayed out on the tile in a tangled mess of arms and legs. Her face was pressed against the ground, eyes shut, her lips parted slightly in that deafening scream—his hearts lurched in his chest and he furrowed his eyebrows in untampered agony at her screech, the lines on his face unfolding themselves in horror. Hearts racing, his brain took over and had the sense to turn off the stove and shift the insulting kettle off the burner, the scream gurgling to a hiss.

The Doctor's knees hit the tile with a crack and he grasps Clara's unresponsive face in his cold palms, supporting her torso as he searches for a pulse. His cold fingers rest on her neck, and wait. Ba bum, ba bum, ba bum…It was only until he could feel the steady thrum of her single heart that he allowed his own to pummel his ears once more. Sighing through a selfish grin, he felt her temperature—a simmer too hot for his naturally burning companion. Placing a kiss on her forehead, he lay her back to the ground and rummaged in his pocket for the sonic.

A quick whirr and a bleep later, he confirmed a severe case of some forgotten Zukronian virus that had caused quite a scare the years before the Olympics had begun. With proper care, she should be right as rain in no time, as long as she hadn't been like this for too long, then…

He barricaded the thought from his mind, reassuring himself that his Clara was a smart girl, and would have told him the moment she felt unreasonably off. Especially after the brief history he'd given her _during_ the Olympics…Silly humans. Snaking two arms beneath her shoulders, he dragged her easily round the kitchen and into the TARDIS.

In no time at all he'd gotten her on a small, memory foam hospital bed in the infirmary. It was a sterile, white room, perfectly normal until you glanced at the ceiling. There was none, just the immediate space outside of the TARDIS, whether it be a Cardiff street or spider cloud nebula. As of the moment, it sported a cotton-candy nebula glittered with metalloid asteroids.

A monitor in the wall flickered on, expressing his companion's vitals. His face dropped. His Clara was, in short, dying. Degrading. Lips parted in disbelief, he squinted at her temperature again…40.5 degrees Celsius. His brain barely had time to register this information before he was scampering about again, preparing an ice-bath and plunking her in it as fast as inhumanly possible.

She gasped, her face animating instantly into a mess of confused cinnamon eyes and a contorted, silent screech. "Clara, Clara it's okay, you've nearly boiled your brains out—"She looked at him incredulously, taking in her horizontal environment in one swipe that made her head even more frazzled. "I don't know where I am" she cried out, wincing as her throat rebelled. "Clara—"

"I don't know where I am!" she cried, her eyes fighting to make tears, but failing desperately.

A soothing voice rumbled softly, authoritatively, beside her. The intensity of the low tones cut through her burning mind and the agonizing freeze, and she felt grounded, as though she had been tethered to something sure and real and immediate.

"Look at me Clara"

Her red face turned to him, seeing him, whoever "him" was.

"I can show you exactly, where you are, and where I always will be." He lifted her hand from the icebath and held it gingerly with his own, smoothing his thumb over the still-burning skin. "Look up." It was more of an invitation than a command.

Clara raised he wild eyes to the stars and felt relaxed. She wasn't confined in a little bathtub in some strange room she'd never seen before, she was free. Eyes dancing along the millions upon millions of crystalline stars, she felt her heart slow to a comfortable tempo, a smile toying on her lips. She squeezed the man's hand beside her, the man with the comforting, low voice and that Scottish accent she knew so well… _hang on…Scottish..._

 _This man was the Doctor, and she was in the TARDIS._

 _This man was the Doctor, and she was his companion._

 _This man was the Doctor, and she had dreamt of his sexy, beak-like nose._

Clara lurched forward in the tub, gagging at the thought

"Nice to have you with us. You're quite boring when you're not chattering about."

"You're not going to be sick, are you?" grimaced the Doctor.

"No, no, I'm fine. I was lost for a moment, and then I remembered." She glanced upwards at a blue moon off in the distance. "Doctor, how did you know to come? I was reaching for the phone…and I missed."

"I think that's quite apparent," he said, turning her blue wrist to the light. "It's a good thing you don't call for help often. You're rubbish at it." He stood and continued. "By the way, why didn't you call me sooner? If I hadn't come 'round your pudding brain would actually be a pudding. A nasty pudding. A pudding of the utmost nastiness imaginable, with another heaping tablespoon of nastiness."

"I…dunno…forgot? I couldn't exactly think straight." She blinked innocently

"Forgot? For two blinking days you forgot?" she bit her lip. "Rubbishy human memory…" and he grumbled away, searching the cabinets for a towel.

"Actually Doctor, it's Wednesday. Today is. I've been like this since last Thursday…"at his glare she attempted to fix her obvious mistake. "But it wasn't this bad! I promise! Thursday was an intense cold, Friday was more like the flu…and I don't really remember Saterday or Sunday…or Monday….or…..Tuesday." She faltered under his attack eyebrows and settled for staring at the stars.

"Clara. Oswin. Oswald. Do you mean to tell me you let your brain poach for 5 days without medical care?! YOU'RE NOT IMMORTAL CLARA!" his voice reverberated and cracked like a thunderstorm.

She mumbled in the tub. She hated when he was cross with anyone, especially her. He was so good, she couldn't bear it to see him so…not good.

"Speak up when I'm talking to you." She could feel his glare on the back of her neck.

Eyes flaring, Clara whipped around and spat "Poaching and freezing my arse off!" The movement made her woozy. She wished she could clamber out of the tub, but she'd lost feeling in her legs ages ago.

She had expected him to fling some nasty remark against her species, to meet the terrifying gaze of her best friend, or to sit through some speech about her life choices…but she met an equally visage of the horror she felt, directed at her. "What." She demanded.

"I need you out of that tub. Now. Hurry up. HURRY" he shouted, launching himself across the room and hoisting her up painfully by her shoulders, supporting her. "How do you feel?" he demanded.

"My legs and arms are numb, killer headache, freezin'." She listed succinctly. Something was wrong with her thoughts. They were…half-formed, slow, like they needed to cross a sea of molasses before being allowed to surface.

Her knees buckled and she found her head lolling awkwardly on his chest. It wasn't that she couldn't control her limbs, it was like she didn't even have limbs. Not a good feeling.


	3. Chapter 3

_"…you're not immortal, Clara," he was saying, "you never were." The Doctor and Clara lay, sprawled on a burning battlefield, watching the stars together in their last moments. He would not regenerate with these injuries._

 _"Neither are you, but that never stopped you." She smiled. "We are the adventurers of time and space. And we are impossible. If death is but the next great adventure…what's stopping us now?" she smiled up at him, moving her head only the smallest inch._

 _"I've lived—" he gasped "nearly 72 times the amount you will, and it's my fault"_

 _"Hush now" she smiled warmly again, tears forming in her already glazed eyes._

 _"You once told me a good life depends on the person who lives it, and not the stretch of time they had. Doctor, you've made my time extraordinary. And now," she closed her eyes, fighting tears, "nothing is stopping me from the next extraordinary adventure." She reached for his hand, inching her own across the muck of the battlefield. "And you know I would never have traded that for anything. Thank you, Doctor." She began to choke on her words. "For saving my life." The tears rolled freely down her battered, dirt and blood stained face, still so beautiful._

 _"Doctor?"_

 _Silence._

 _Clara's heart caught in her chest. No…_

 _"Doctor? No, Doctor, PLEASE, NO" she cried once more_

 _"DOCTOR!" she wailed, extending her hand as far as she could go, centimeters between his own, unmoving, curled hand. Heaving herself over the rubble with her lacerated hands, she grasped his hand in her own, feeling the blood and earth cement the connection. His fingers did not twitch under her touch, or cling back as she had hoped. She held a dead man's hand, and she wept, the mourning of the universe coursing through her in great, wrenching sobs—_

"DOCTOR!"

"CLARA I'M HERE!" a voice bellowed in her face, and she woke. A very exasperated timelord leaned over her in irritation.

"CLARA OSWALD I am literally in front of you face right this very instant! Or do I have to move around a bit in order for your eyes to capture everything, because your face is so wide maybe you've missed it!"

Clara's wide eyes stared blankly at the Doctor, disbelieving.

"Gallifrey to Clara!" a white, boney hand waved in front of her face. "You've been screeching something horrible for the last half hour! Good god woman" he rolled his eyes, rubbing his hands down his face.

Her face broke into a smile of such heartbreaking relief and elation, the Doctor forgot his own cover, and he smiled his rare, dazzling smile.

She'd been strapped to an odd reclining wall once she'd begun having heat-induced fits, the Doctor later explained without making eye contact. Immediately Clara felt horrible about forcing him through whatever she did…but she couldn't shake the image of the Doctor's dripping, muddy hand…

The Doctor pulled Clara into a warm hug, snaking his arms around his best friend. He wondered if he should tell her that she talks in her sleep…

She nuzzled her head into his red velvet waistcoat, wishing this moment could last forever.

And he decided not to, smiling into her hair.

THE END


End file.
